


Absurdly So

by PotatoButt



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Best Friends, But he is, Getting Together, M/M, Oikawa is not a cry baby, but not cliche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoButt/pseuds/PotatoButt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hajime has concluded that there are two types of Tooru’s crying: stupid, and meaningful. Like when Tooru cries because his favorite volleyball is punctured, it’s stupid. It’s the crying that Tooru does his best to not let Hajime know about that is the meaningful, and serious, kind of crying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absurdly So

Hajime learned at a young age that Tooru, his best friend, has the tendency to cry. Later in life, Hajime will teasingly call Tooru a cry baby. But in this memory, the boys are eight years old, and Hajime has been taught that calling Tooru, or anyone else, a crybaby is mean.

Anyway, Tooru busts into Hajime’s room, eyes wet and nose oozing snot. Hajime frowns, mainly because that’s gross, but also because he doesn’t like to see Tooru upset. “What’s the matter?” He asks, looking up from his volleyball magazine, which he asks for just to look at the pictures.

Tooru sniffs, wiping his nose on his collar, “My mom won’t let me set up a telescope on the roof to see aliens.” Hajime quirks up an eyebrow.

“You’re crying over that?”

Tooru looks deeply offended, “Yes! You don’t understand, Iwa-chan!” Hajime frowns back.

“Sorry, jeez.” He feels a little guilty as he sees another tear slide down Tooru’s face. Hajime doesn’t know how to handle this. He thinks quickly of all of the movies or tv dramas he’d seen with someone crying. The phrase ‘a shoulder to cry on,’ comes to his mind. “Come here,” He tells Tooru, who comes to him immediately. Hajime pats the space beside him, “You can lean on my shoulder until you get over it.” He says this in what he imagines to be his best ‘best friend’ voice.

Tooru’s cheek lands on his shoulder, and he sniffles. Sure enough, though, he’s done crying after a few minutes, back to normal-Tooru, quipping sarcastic jokes at Hajime.

—

Since then, Hajime has concluded that there are two types of Tooru’s crying: stupid, and meaningful. Like when Tooru cries because his favorite volleyball is punctured, it’s stupid. It’s the crying that Tooru does his best to not let Hajime know about that is the meaningful, and serious, kind of crying.

When Hajime finds Tooru curled up in the gym after hours, he knows that his friend is not okay. “Oika,” He starts, voice stopping when he hears the deep, hiccuping breaths coming from Tooru’s figure. He’s sitting on the floor, knees pulled as close as possible to his chest, face buried in arms.

When Tooru notices Hajime’s presence, he flinches, quickly wipes his eyes and flashes Hajime that grin. Hajime walks up, squatting in front of Tooru. Upon closer inspection, he sees just how red his eyes are, puffy too, and the wet spots on his t-shirt. “Ah, Iwa-chan, your nose must be as good as a dog’s to find me here.” Tooru tries to tease, but it just doesn’t work like usual. Hajime frowns at him.

“Stop that.” Hajime grumbles, sitting beside Tooru. He reaches up, crudely yanking Tooru’s head to rest on his shoulder. Just like always. “Talk to me.” Hajime murmurs. He’s known Tooru for years. They are almost fourteen, and Hajime knows him well, but he doesn't know why Tooru is crying now.

After a lot of sniffing, Tooru gives in to Hajime’s pressure, telling him everything. How he hates Kageyama, but also not really. How he hates himself, because he’s not the best. How he hates how his body gets tired before he can improve. Hajime thinks it’s all a load of crap; he tells Tooru this. Tooru simply laughs it off lightly, but Hajime can tell that he feels just a fraction better, and that’s what matters.

—

Another instance of stupid-crying, is during their first year of high school. Tooru’s popularity had skyrocketed, and he decided to roll with it. He has this girlfriend, a pretty yet boring girl who fauns over everything he does. Hajime supposes it helps with his self-esteem.

Though, one evening, Hajime receives a text message from Tooru, asking Hajime to please come over and bring the nice tissues, the kind that have a soothing lotion in them. Hajime, of course, does this, showing up at Tooru’s house like it’s his own. He gets up to Tooru’s bedroom, not even bothering with knocking before he comes in.   Tooru is lying on his bed, gazing blankly at the ceiling, clutching his pillow to his chest. Hajime can plainly see that he is crying. He chucks the box of tissues at Tooru, “What happened?” Hajime already knows that this isn’t the serious crying.

Catching the box, Tooru sighs shakily, “Remi-chan broke up with me.”

Hajime resists the urge to tease Tooru, since he is crying and all.

“She said I don’t spend enough time with her, because I’m always doing volleyball stuff.” He hiccups, wiping his nose with a tissue. After fifteen and a half years, he’s finally learned to control that snot machine.

Hajime sighs, sitting on the edge of Tooru’s bed. He pats his friend’s head lightly, “Well, to be honest, you are always doing volleyball stuff.” He sees Tooru frown pathetically at him, “There will be other girls.” For some reason, that doesn’t feel right coming out of Hajime’s mouth.

After a minute, Tooru sits up, resting his temple agains Hajime’s shoulder, “You’re right Iwa-chan, because I have all of the girls, and you have none.”

Hajime jabs him in the side, but not without calling him “Shittykawa.”

—

They are seventeen, and Hajime is staying the night at Tooru’s house. He’s sleeping on the futon on the floor, and Tooru is in his own bed. At some point during the night, Hajime wakes up to pee, drowsily walking into the bathroom. When he comes back to the room, he glances at Tooru’s bed. Tooru is curled on his side, facing away from Hajime. This is not unusual. Hajime is about to lay back down when he hears a sharp inhale, a sound he recognizes.

“Oikawa?” He calls out. Tooru says nothing, but as Hajime peers harder through the dark, he can see his shoulders shaking. Hajime turns on a lamp beside the bed, revealing Tooru’s figure. He is most definitely crying. On top of that, he’s clutching Hajime’s jacket and crying into it. “Oikawa?” Hajime tries again. Tooru doesn’t really knowledge him except to shy away from the hand on his shoulder.

Hajime just wants to ask him why he’s crying, why he’s holding Hajime’s jacket like it’s going to be stolen from him, and why he won’t even look at him.

“I swear, Oikawa if,” Hajime starts, but Tooru interrupts.

“Not right now Hajime, please.”

Hajime stops cold. Something is very, very wrong. Tooru’s voice is so broken and hoarse that Hajime struggles to match it to the image of Tooru’s face. It sounds completely and totally foreign. Hajime sits on Tooru’s bed, right beside his shoulders. He reaches, hand rubbing Tooru’s trembling back. The sight hurts Hajime in his chest.

“Tell me. You’ll feel better when you tell me, you know.” Hajime coaxes, uncharacteristically soft. 

“I-I can’t,” Tooru sobs, the sound of it ripping Hajime in half. Hajime worries more; what was so bad that he couldn’t tell Hajime, his number one best friend, about? He has almost forgotten about his Aoba Johsai jacket, which no doubt probably has some Tooru snot on it.

“Is it about volleyball?” Tooru shakes his head. “A girl?” Again a head shake. Hajime sighs, “Oikawa, I’m not good at guessing.” Tooru just moves his head again. “You’re impossible.” Hajime huffs, hands moving to Tooru’s hair. It’s soft, almost absurdly so, but Hajime likes it. He likes Tooru, maybe absurdly so.

“Sorry,” Tooru murmurs, scrubbing at an eye with the back of his hand. Hajime’s heart breaks a little more. 

Hajime’s fingers are still in Tooru’s hair, fingertips massaging his scalp, trying his best to figure out ways to soothe his best friend. With another sigh, Hajime lays down behind Tooru, arm curling over Tooru’s waist. Hajime’s heart hammers in his chest, which was the express reason why he vowed to never ever share a bed with Tooru, because he gets too worked up. But he does now, because he knows how much Tooru likes to cuddle.

After a moment, Tooru rolls over, facing Hajime now, though his face is mostly covered up by his jacket. Hajime leans close, nose in that stupidly soft hair, a hand rubbing up Tooru’s side. After another minute, Tooru’s hand is clutching Hajime’s shirt, face burrowed in his shoulder. Hajime feels miserable as he feels Tooru’s sobbed breaths and wetness into his shirt. Hajime’s voice is quiet. “Tooru, please. You’re killing me here.” The fist against his hip clenches a little tighter.

“I,” Tooru hiccups loudly, and Hajime nuzzles his hair for encouragement. “It’s stupid.” He mumbles, sounding hopeless.

“Obviously it isn’t. I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

“I… I don’t want you to hate me, or not want to be around me, Iwa-chan- Hajime, I just…” Tooru cries a little harder, and Hajime can visualize how his voice is wobbling. “I f-fucking love you, and it’s stupid, but I do, and I can’t,” Tooru hiccups, “I can’t deal with it.”

Hajime’s whole body feels as if it’s been flipped upside down. He doesn’t know what to say, but despite Tooru’s crying, what he's just said has made Hajime feel really good. 

Though, Hajime’s speechlessness was interpreted differently by Tooru, who is trying to push away from Hajime’s chest, “See? This is why I couldn’t tell you, because now you’re weirded out because I’m gross, and now it’ll never be the same. I- I was trying to just ignore it but…” Tooru trails off, voice taken over by his crying.

“Oikawa, hey. Tooru.” Hajime shakes his shoulder, “I’m not weirded out. I just…” Hajime feels his cheeks get warm, blushing like some ridiculous drama character. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t know how to handle a confession, Iwa-chan,” Tooru quips weakly, the words not flowing off his tongue like they usually do. Hajime huffs at him.

“I’m not rejecting you.” Hajime finds himself saying. That was one of the two options right? Reject or accept?

Tooru finally peeks up at Hajime. His eyes are totally red and wet, and it makes Hajime a little sad.

Hajime frowns a bit; he doesn’t know what to say. His heart is distracting him, beating too loud in his ears, making it hard to think straight. “We can try. You know… The dating thing.” He imagines it in a few seconds; he imagines kissing Tooru, cuddling and watching movies, and Hajime finds himself getting butterflies at those ideas.

“What? Really?” Tooru’s mouth is slack, and he seems to have stopped crying, even though his breath is still ragged and uncontrolled, eye lashes soaked.

“Yeah, I mean…” Hajime pauses, wiping Tooru’s cheeks awkwardly with his fingers, “I think I like you. I could love you like that… Like how you love me.” He feels off, like he should be confessing long, unrequited love as well. Hajime reminds himself that it’s not a drama, but real life. He isn’t in love with Tooru, not yet. But if Tooru keeps looking at Hajime like he was some deity of volleyball like he is right now, he probably could fall in love with him that night.

“You’re not just getting my hopes up to shoot me down, are you Iwa-chan?” Tooru asks, and even though he sounds sarcastic, Hajime can hear the real insecurity under his tongue.

Hajime frowns at him, “I’m not that much of an asshole.” Is he?

Finally, Tooru smiles, “No. I guess you’re not.” His smile is the realest one that Hajime has seen in a long, long time, and he finds himself smiling back. Tooru pushes at Hajime’s face, “Iwa-chan! Stop giving me bedroom eyes! We started dating two seconds ago, you perv!”

“I was not!” Hajime shouts, quickly slapping his hand over his mouth. He’d forgotten that it was the middle of the night. He glares at Tooru, who is fighting off giggles. He can’t believe he likes this asshole. “Shut up, Trashykawa.” Tooru just looks smug as he drops Hajime’s jacket on the floor before cuddling close to Hajime again, nose against his shoulder. Hajime sighs in relief. He’s glad Tooru stopped crying, even if it meant that Tooru’s ridiculous remarks were back. His heart is still doing weird things in his chest, but he tries to ignore it, resting with his cheek against the top of Tooru’s head.

Hajime forgets to turn off the lamp, but they fall asleep soon enough to not be bothered by it. 

In the morning, Hajime wakes up with Tooru’s knee in his gut, arm pushing Hajime’s face away in such an angle that makes his neck hurt. This is another reason why Hajime had previously vowed to never share a bed with Tooru. As if nothing had changed, Hajime shoves his sleeping friend, boyfriend, away from him to get out of bed.


End file.
